In The Dark Secret Echoes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Put me to the lips of a cave like a thrush cavorting
With the whirlwind:
Put me above the heads of the male tourists who
Are always trouncing down into you
Like a washing machine:
Going counterclockwise with their tongues as if they
Were trying to retrieve
Family pets, or the vulgarities of the mailboxes:
Put me above you on a spoke,
Like the special poison of a dirge; and I will see deep
Down into the rich deep concavities which are inside
Of you,
Which you put to bed at night, which you slip out of so
Easily and so fine to make a bath of love
In the glowing aloe while the rabbits are
Dampened and sated;
And as your trailer yawls and hems, and the rattlesnakes
Brush like ribbons around the sinkhole of your eyes:
Put me there as well with you and your children,
Put me on a shelf over the television,
Or in the tiny miniscule kitchen that you can so easily and
So bravely leap fully blown out of,
For this is your night and I am but one infantile star
Reaching down and peering for hours into the dark
Secret echoes that seem to make you whole.